


House Call

by cress26



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Doctor/Patient, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15627258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cress26/pseuds/cress26
Summary: A raging snowstorm has an ailing Liz trapped with Dr. Raymond Reddington, who can't figure out what's worse: the snow outside or his patient's condition.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> He has been so many things already: King, pirate, policeman, thief, mechanic, alpha, werewolf, cat, vampire, chef, security guard, admiral etc. But one thing is still missing.  
> A doctor.  
> I'm nursing this idea for a while now and thanks to heatherpeters' help and advice this story came out.

The blizzard was a severe one. 

The snow that had begun during the night had steadily increased and weather forecasts warned of a storm that might bring a thirty-inch snowfall later in the afternoon. 

School bus driver Elizabeth Keen had started this morning on her established route through winding suburbs and packed urban areas in Washington D.C. to pick up children and safely drop them off at the front door of designated schools. However, she reversed the morning routine and returned the children back to their homes. 

She had three more stops before the final drop-off, but with the large, heavy flakes being driven against her windshield by the wind and with the street already buried under more than a foot of new snow, she would be fortunate to make the trip in under a half hour.

The snow was wet and clumping at the windshield wipers. She sighed and leaned forward over the steering wheel, struggling to see her way. Driving had become extremely difficult in the past hour.

She was unable to share the enthusiasm of the children when it came to the storm. Their keen chatter concerning sledding and snowball fights echoed through the bus and made her long for her warm bed even more.

She didn't feel well. Two mornings ago she’d awakened with a sore throat and headache, which had only become worse. Today, she was burning up with fever as well, and couldn't wait for the end of shift. Thank god it was Friday and she would have the weekend off.

******

By the time Elizabeth reached the bus yard and parked the bus in the garage, the snow had increased in intensity, and accumulating at a rapid rate. She zipped up her jacket and pulled her hood over her hair, shivering. 

She quickly headed to the driver’s office to return the bus keys. 

She was greeted by her manager, Donald Ressler. 

“I'm glad to see you made it back in one piece. Weather conditions stink, and it promises to get worse – a lot worse,” he grumbled.

“All roads are in poor condition. People are advised to stay home, and extra snowplows were ordered by the mayor. You need to get home, quick, Liz.”

“I will, thanks Don.”

She handed him the keys and turned to leave.

He looked at her, concern filling his eyes. 

“You look like shit, Keen. Are you alright?”

Elizabeth gave him an unhappy grin and nodded.

“I think I'm coming down with a stupid cold, maybe that's why.”

“Better rest on the weekend then.”

“Yeah, I will…. Bye Don.”

“Bye Liz, hope you feel better soon.”

She left the office and trudged through the deep snow to her car. Thank God she didn't live too far away. Her drive home should be a short one. 

She started the engine and put the heater on full blast, but it didn’t do any good. She still felt chilled to the bone. Her throat ached and when she swallowed, it felt like liquid fire going down.

Elizabeth groaned, gathering the last of her strength as she started her homeward journey.

Relieved to be off the roads, she finally entered her red-brick, two-story, semi-detached house.

She longed for a hot shower, so she went straight into the bathroom after hanging up her jacket, stripped off her bus uniform and turned on the jets.

She stood under the nozzle for a long time, until she felt dizzy from the heat and the overpowering fatigue in both mind and body.

After toweling dry, she managed to don clean panties and a shirt before curling up under a blanket on her soft sofa in the living room. Almost instantly, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Two hours later Elizabeth woke up coughing. She was drenched in sweat, aching all over and felt shaky and weak. She was burning with fever and her head pounded from a raging headache.

She struggled to sit up in order to take full inventory of her current state. She shivered, suddenly cold, as she gingerly reached for the blanket to cover herself.

Her gaze fell on her half naked form and her breath caught in her throat.

She was shocked to discover raised red bumps covering her arms and legs. Slowly, the reason for her sickness began to dawn on her. 

It wasn’t a simple cold like she had hoped. There were several cases of chicken pox among the school kids in the past weeks and it had probably passed on to her.

She’d always thought she was vaccinated… apparently not.

What should she do now? The high fever had her worried.

Looking through the terrace doors into the garden and seeing the snow accumulation, she knew it was impossible for her to leave the house in order to seek medical attention, especially in her frail condition. 

If anything, medical help needed to come to her. 

She carefully rose from the couch to find her smartphone. Every step seemed an effort; she was feeling nauseated and very ill. The spots on her skin started itching and she just knew this was only the beginning of her suffering. 

Elizabeth searched online and found a “Doctor’s To You” service for the Washington area. They offered medical house calls: Physicians who make house calls for patients with acute illnesses. 

She dialed their number and was connected to an assistant at the main office.

"May I help you?" a friendly voice asked. 

"Yes, I need medical assistance," Liz croaked.

"What seems to be the problem, Ma'am?"

"I think I have the chicken pox."

There was a pause, then the voice asked: "What are your symptoms please?"

Liz took a breath. 

“I have the chills, high fever, a sore throat, I’m coughing, and I have many itching marks on my arms and legs.”

“Have you recently been exposed to the chickenpox virus?”

“Yes, I’m a school bus driver and some of the children had it.”

"What is your name, age and address please?"

“My name is Elizabeth Keen and I’m 35. The address is 8123, 12th street”, she answered, giving the requested information.

"Hold on please, Miss Keen."

Liz held on for several moments. She was placed into the waiting line and listened to some random music.

"Miss Keen? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Due to the weather none of our doctors can reach you at this time.”

“I was afraid you would say that,” Liz stated miserably.

“Not to worry, Miss Keen. As luck will have it, one of our physicians happens to be in your neighborhood on a house call right now. I will contact Dr. Reddington and send him to your home to have a look at you. He should still be able to get to you.”

“That would be great.”

Liz was immensely relieved that help was on the way. 

"Thank you so much."

“Please have your credit card and health insurance available. Dr. Reddington will write down the information.”

“Ok.”

“I hope you get better soon, Miss Keen.”

“Thank you.”

Liz hung up and carefully settled back on the sofa. 

******

The black Mercedes sedan dozed through the drabness of winter, ploughed through the snow and slush on the arctic roads. The snow storm hit full force by now and it was almost impossible to drive.

Vision was severely diminished by the swirling whiteness, and the howling of the wind suppressed everything else. 

Dr. Raymond Reddington sighed. He was an experienced driver and his noble car spoiled him with a certain amount of security, but he knew he’d never make it home, that much was clear. 

With any luck he’d make it to his next patient, located only two blocks away: A woman with chickenpox. While common among children, the disease was more serious in adults. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t pregnant. 

He took a final left turn, lost in thought, when a gust of wind blew his car practically across the street. He turned the wheel, driving into the skid, but the vehicle kept skidding sideways, then came to a grinding halt, half buried in a snowdrift. 

Raymond sat unmoving for a moment to gather his bearings, then he rubbed his right knee, which had been jammed against the console at impact. It hurt but he assumed it was just bruised. 

The Mercedes however had no such luck. The right headlight was smashed, and the front fender was dented. He wondered if his insurance would take care of it.

He put the vehicle in reverse, then listened to the tires spin; he couldn’t get free. 

Resigned, he switched off the ignition and clumsily climbed out of the car on the passenger seat as his door was stuck in the snow as well. 

Opening the backseat door, he retrieved his black doctor’s bag, then locked the car and slowly made his way through the snow to Miss Keen’s house. 

When the doorbell rang, it took her a while to answer. She managed to open the door, then felt her world spin as her knees buckled. She closed her eyes and nearly collapsed in a heap. 

Dr. Reddington rushed forward and caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her before she hit the ground.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve got you.” Dr. Reddington said reassuringly as he carried Liz over to the comfortable sofa and laid her down, tucking a throw pillow under her head for support, then pulled the blanket over her as well.

He quickly shed his snow-covered coat, shoes, gloves and scarf and carried it all back into the corridor so that his clothes wouldn’t wet the floor even more than they already had. 

He also picked up his doctor’s bag which he had carelessly dropped in front of the door when he’d caught her. 

He closed the door and went back into the living room to kneel beside her.

Liz lay on the sofa still and motionless, her eyes shut. She looked sick, her face pale and damp.

Raymond was staring at the rich auburn curls streaming around her flushed face.

“Miss Keen, can you hear me?”

Getting no response, he touched her cheek, then laid the back of his hand on her forehead. Good lord, she was literally burning with fever. 

He gently smoothed her hair, trying to rouse her from her boneless sprawl.

“Hello, Miss Keen?”

A long, shaky shiver raced through her and her lashes fluttered as she whimpered, kitten soft.

Raymond was hit by a protective instinct so strong it overwhelmed common sense. 

He stilled when her eyes opened. Astonishing blue eyes, hazed with fever and confusion, desperately trying to focus.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m Dr. Raymond Reddington and I’m here to help you.”

The sound of his voice brought her gaze directly to his and he watched, strangely fascinated as a small smile shaped her mouth.

“That’s good,” she murmured. “I don’t feel well.”

Raymond caught his breath. The look she gave him turned him inside out as he experienced a stunning sense of familiarity, of knowing this woman in a way that bypassed the conscious mind. 

Then she looked away and it was gone, leaving him baffled by what he’d felt. Irritable he shook off the moment, assigning it to imagination, though his arms were goose flushed.

 _Get a grip, doctor._ He scolded himself. _She’s your patient and you better start treating her instead of looking at her like a stupid fool._

Liz sighed heavily, closed her eyes again and snuggled into her pillow for comfort.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmured. “I feel so dizzy.”

“It’s the fever,” he told her, rose and entered the adjoining kitchen. He opened a few cabinets, pulled out a glass and filled it with water, then brought it to her. 

“You must drink as much as you can,” he said. “You’re severely dehydrated.”

He slipped an arm behind her and held her up a little to help her drink. Her throat was bothering her; he could tell by the way she grimaced when she swallowed.

“You probably shouldn’t have touched me, doctor. I’m highly contagious.”

“Don’t worry. I had the chicken pox when I was 5 years old,” he chuckled at the memory. “Drove my mother nuts because I used my illness as an excuse to live on cookies and chocolate ice cream for an entire week.”

Raymond cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing at his lips. Liz returned his smile with another strikingly beautiful smile of her own despite her misery.

He gave her a tender look.

“Does that sound like a plan to you?”

“Oh no, not really, I love real food far too much.” She sighed languidly. “But right now, I have no appetite whatsoever.”

“When did you start feeling ill?”

“It started two days ago with a sore throat and a headache. I’ve had a fever since this morning; thought it was the flu.”

Raymond bent and unsnapped the clasps on his doctor’s bag and opened it while he listened to her.

“When I saw the spots, I knew what was wrong.”

She took another sip and continued.

“I’m a school bus driver. There were cases of chicken pox among the children for the past weeks.”

He nodded and inserted a thermometer into her mouth to take her temperature. 

Gently, he reached for her right hand to check her pulse when the deep scar on her wrist, clearly from a burn, startled him. 

He looked at her questioningly and watched as sadness filled her eyes. She quickly blinked it away and gave him a polite smile.

Looking back down, the scarlet mark taunted him. It looked angry, painful. He reached out without thinking, smoothing the tip of his fingers over the spot.

“Does it hurt?”

He felt her breath catch, and from the corner of his eye he could see her head shake. 

He traced his finger around the bumpy skin and over it. The flesh beneath was noticeably hotter than the surrounding ivory skin. 

Suddenly he wished his touch could make it all better, erase it altogether, the painful memories on how she got it included. 

There were a million questions swirling through his mind, but he knew they'd have to wait. First, he had to help her.

He swallowed slowly, carefully, remembering once again his real duty. 

He shifted his fingers, sliding them directly over her pulse point as he started to count, giving her a tentative compassionate smile in return.

Long seconds ticked by until he released her wrist and pulled the thermometer from between her lips.

“Your pulse is fine, but you’re running a fever of a hundred and four.”

His forehead creased with concern. 

“Oh no …” she exclaimed weakly.

He took out his stethoscope and hung it around his neck.

“You’re not pregnant, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good. Let's take a look at your throat then. Please stick out your tongue and say, aaah.”

Liz did as asked, and with a small penlight he looked into her throat, pushing down her tongue with a depressor. 

“Your throat is definitely inflamed. It appears to be strep throat.”

He felt her neck and behind her ears.

“Your glands are swollen.”

He soothingly patted her arms when she coughed. 

“I can’t test a throat swab to be sure, but treating for strep would be my choice, even if I had lab facilities. I have several kinds of antibiotics in my bag. I’ll give you a shot with a loading dose and then you can take the pills for a few days.”

He gave her a serious look.

“Are you allergic to any medicines, Miss Keen?”

Liz muttered “no, not that I know of” was barely audible.

He reached for the stethoscope around his neck.

“I’d like to listen to you, could you please sit up for me?”

Raymond fumbled the buds into his ears, concentrating as he tried to warm the round end against his palm. 

“I’m wearing no bra.”

“You have nothing I haven't seen before,” he said, smiling with encouragement. 

“Right,” she whispered, pushing aside her shyness. 

Respecting her modesty, he slid her shirt up her back just a little so he could move the stethoscope and listen at specific points to her breath sounds. 

The lungs were clear, but her bronchial tubes were congested, which meant that a chest infection was brewing.

He also asserted that the extent of the spots covering her upper body were more than usual and if it continued to spread this rapidly she would be coated everywhere soon.

He finished the examination, put the stethoscope away, then pulled her shirt back down, and easing her down slowly. 

He looked at her seriously with concern in his eyes.

“You’re quite covered with spots already. Unfortunately, I’m afraid it’ll get a lot worse.”

“I know I can't scratch, but I want to so badly.”

“I’ll prescribe an antihistamine, it’ll help with the itching. Also, I suggest you take Tylenol for the fever and calamine lotion for the spots. Do you have any of these two in your medicine chest?”

“Tylenol, yes.”

“Good, I’ll get the other medicine for you then. On my way here, I saw a pharmacy located within the small strip mall one block away." 

She looked into his eyes.

“You can’t go back out there. All the snow… it’s too dangerous.”

“It's a short walk; only take a few minutes.”

“But …”

“No but, Miss Keen. You need the medicine and you can’t go yourself, so I’ll do it for you.”

His words didn’t tolerate any objections; he knew nothing could change his mind. All he knew was that he had this unusual urge to help her and he would. 

“I’ll prepare the antibiotic shot now, then give you Tylenol before I leave. Just try to rest, will you?”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly, “for being here for me.”

There it was again. 

He swallowed hard against the shiver that run the length of his spine. He had no idea why her vulnerability affected him so much, what it was about her that got under his skin. He suddenly felt a deep urge to protect her.

"Don't thank me. It's my duty to help all my patients.”

He knew with her it went beyond duty, but he couldn’t admit that.

She watched him remove the cap from the syringe, break off the tip of the glass ampule and slide the needle inside to draw the antibiotic into the syringe.  
He swabbed the skin of Liz’s right arm with alcohol, then the needle pierced her skin and she closed her eyes briefly, suppressing a moan, as he emptied the syringe and withdrew the needle. 

He covered the small puncture wound with a band-aid.

“The Tylenol is in the bathroom upstairs,” she told him. “In the medicine cabinet.”

“I’ll get it.”

He put his equipment back into his doctor’s bag and closed it, then got up and left the living room.

He came back quickly, dropping two pills into her hand. 

“Take these, then try to rest. I’ll be back soon.”

“Take my keys from the commode in the corridor and let yourself in when you come back.”

“Okay.”

“Please be careful, doctor,” she called after him when he proceeded to step into his shoes and coat before left the house. 

~~~~~~~

Raymond trudged through the knee-high snow. It was still snowing quite heavily, and the storm howled and moaned ferociously, whirling the snow that was already down back up, cutting visibility almost to zero. 

The wind-driven snow seemed to beat against him from all directions and stung his eyes. He sunk deep into his coat and walk on with dogged determination.

The pharmacy was the closest store in the mall and he sighed with relief as its lighted windows assured him that it had not closed due to the storm. 

He gave the pharmacist the prescription and requested calamine lotion. After a few moments the pharmacist came back, handing him a small bag with the requested medicine and Raymond paid for his purchase.

The supermarket he passed on his way out was empty and about to close, so he slipped in quickly, took a cart and hurried around. 

He took cookies, waffles, ice cream, bread, pasta, several cans of soup, milk, eggs, bananas, a box of herbal tea bags and instant oatmeal. Food they both could survive on for a few days if necessary. 

He paid at the check-out and filled the groceries into another bag.

The music blaring through the supermarket was suddenly interrupted by weather news and weather warnings. By now the entire city was shut down, people were advised to not leave their homes.

Gripping the bags tightly, he left the mall. 

The way back to Miss Keen’s house was exhausting. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, he shivered in his wet clothes, his teeth chattering.

He saw that his car was almost completely buried in snow. The city trucks had long quit plowing and the streets and sidewalks were abandoned to the storm. He was the only one brave out here … or stupid one, depending on how you looked at it.

Then he remembered his duffel bag with his sports clothes for the gym in the trunk of his Mercedes. The prospect of a dry t-shirt, sweatpants, fresh underwear and socks were peculiarly encouraging and in a final exertion, he dug the trunk compartment free and retrieved his bag. 

~~~~~~

He found her curled up on the couch in the same abject misery as he left her, although he didn't look much better than her in his current state. 

“Are you alright?” she slurred, her eyes fluttered open. “It sounds like the world is coming to an end outside.”

He kneeled down beside her. “I’m fine.”

She tentatively touched her hand to his face, her fingers warming his cheek.

“You look frozen,” Liz observed. “And like a wet dog.”

Her eyes lit up in shy amusement.

“I just walked through a blizzard!” He laughed with her, but then grew serious. 

“All public life stands still. Everything has shut down. Roads are closed. Public transportation suspended their service.”

All playfulness was gone from his voice, and when she glanced at his face his eyes were dark, intense, a muscle working in his jaw.

Slowly, she slid her fingers from his face, and he suddenly missed the warm touch of her hand on his cold skin.

“The storm may rage for a long time.”

“Does that mean you can’t leave?”

Their eyes locked, longer than was appropriate, before he answered.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me - through this storm."

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take a while because I'll be on vacation in New York. So please bear with me!  
> Thanks :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've recieved a serious complaint for my second chapter of this story from a real doctor regarding the undressing issue. No doctor will ever ask a woman to bare herself unless it's part of a breast examination or mamography.   
> So I went back and made suitable changes, so that my Doctor Reddington won't act inappropriate.   
> I used that specific part for this chapter now however, so nothing is lost. ;)
> 
> Thank you to my friend and beta heatherpeters. I had such a blast finally meeting you!

“You’re stuck with me too, doctor, and it’s probably worse for you than it is for me.”

A small apologetic smile touched her lips.

“Because you have to put up with sick me.”

She paused to wipe her fever-flushed face with the back of her hand, her fingers brushing over the itching spots.

“Though if we don’t get you warm and dry soon, you’ll lay sick right beside me.”

He gently grabbed her wrist, tugging her hand away from her skin.

“Don’t scratch.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

He released her, then opened the pharmacy bag.

“Go upstairs for a hot shower,” she suggested.

“We need to take care of your spots first,” he said with a dismissive shake of his head.

“I’ll be fine 10 minutes longer. Go shower.”

Hiding a smile, Raymond exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath. Somehow her stubbornness appealed to him.

“Please? There’s fresh towels in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Ok, you win.”

“That easily?” She leaned back on the pillow, closed her eyes and smiled again.

“For now,” he teased. “I’ll be right back.”

Raymond took his duffel bag and went upstairs to the master bathroom. 

He quickly stripped off his wet clothes, shed his white polo shirt, black jeans, underwear and socks.

Pulling open the pebbled glass door, he stepped into the shower and turned it on.

A moan of pure pleasure escaped his lips as the hot water began to warm his cold body. No shower had ever felt this good. If it wasn’t for the fact that his sick host was waiting for him, he’d spend the next hour letting the warm water pound away every ache. As a guest however, an unexpected one at that, it would be rude to linger. 

He took a little of her vanilla shampoo, quickly lathered his short hair and upper body, then leaned back into the pulsating spray, letting the water wash away the suds from his head, neck and shoulders. 

He turned the water off, stepped out of the cubicle and grabbed a towel from the cabinet to dry off.

When he was finished and shrugged into dry clothes, he gathered his wet apparel and placed them on the counter. He would ask Miss Keen if he could launder them later. 

When he returned to the living room, he found her sleeping. Deciding not to disturb her rest, he quietly stepped into the kitchen to put away the groceries.   
While he heated water for tea he had a closer look around, getting an overview of furnishings and appliances.

Everything on the first floor was open. The kitchen, the dining area, the living space, all blended together into one huge comfortable room. 

A thick light brown carpet covered the floor up to the kitchen. The kitchen was equipped with brand-new stainless-steel appliances and fitted out with cream colored kitchen cabinets and shiny cream floor tiles. 

The dining area opposite the kitchen was small, having room for only a wooden table and four chairs.

The grey plush sofa and matching loveseat formed a nook around a wooden coffee table in the living area.

All the furniture faced an entertainment center that had been built into the wall and surrounded a large TV set. A dark wooden bookcase with a locking glass front lined another wall.

The room was lightly decorated with plants, paintings and a couple of cream-colored standing lamps. For the most part it was simple and yet warm and inviting.

A staircase went up to the second floor where the bedroom and bathroom were located. Another one led down to the basement.

There was a door in the kitchen leading outside to a small backyard garden, but except for a few bushes and an apple tree he couldn’t make out any more details. Everything was covered in thick snow.

To his surprise, there were no photographs of a partner, friends or family on the walls of either room much less any other personal items. She’d probably moved in here only recently, he thought. 

He took two mugs, placed a tea bag in each, then filled them with the boiling water. 

Carefully he carried both cups to the coffee table, sat down on the loveseat and gazed at her sleeping form. She still looked so pale and unwell. What concerned him most were her spells of chills and fever, when she lay there quivering, even in her sleep, cold one minute, hot the next.

He pulled the blanket more closely around her, trying to stop his heart from aching for her suffering. 

The snow storm still rampaged outside, and he pensively drank his tea as he gazed outside to watch the snowflakes perform a wild dance in front of the window. 

~~~~~~

Liz woke to the sensation of having one million ants crawling on her body. She reached for her cheeks, ready to claw off the offending intruders, and found to her surprise that her hands had been covered with soft pink socks. 

“What the hell?!”

Somebody leaned over into Liz’s field of vision, and she found herself staring into the worried face of Dr. Reddington.

“Please, don’t scratch, Miss Keen. You have beautiful skin and I don’t want you getting any scars.”

The ants continued their march over her face, down her throat, spread across her stomach and down to her abdomen and legs.

“You’ve been scraping at yourself in your sleep. I couldn’t find any gloves to cover your hands and I didn’t want to cut your fingernails without your permission. So the socks were the only way to prevent you from permanently damaging your skin.” 

He grinned sheepishly at her.

“But this itching is about to kill me,” she groaned desperately, not appreciating his resourceful idea.

“I know.”

Raymond pressed a pill to her lips.

“Take this antihistamine. It’ll help.”

Liz struggled into a sitting position, her head threatening to explode. He poured her a fresh glass of water and helped her drink and swallow the pill. 

“I’ll apply Calamine lotion on your spots in a minute, but before I do, we have to discuss your sleeping arrangement.”

Feeling like a wilting flower, she sank back on the pillow.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want your sickbed to be upstairs in your bedroom or here on the couch?”

“I’m fine where I am, doctor.”

“Are you sure it’s comfortable enough? Otherwise I could just carry you over my shoulder upstairs; that’s no problem.”

He attempted humor to lighten her mood; he knew she was miserable. To his utter delight she laughed. 

“Is that how you treat your patients?”

“Of course,” he winked at her.

“Mmm, tempting,” she still smiled, but grew serious again.

“The couch will do, really.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “But then tell me where to find linen to cover it. Things will get messy once the spots turn into fluid-filled blisters and pop open, not to mention the Calamine lotion will be everywhere as well.”

“You’ll find bedclothes upstairs in the dresser in my bedroom. Just take what you need.” 

“Will I find your sleepwear in there too? You’ll need to change often...”

“Yes, it’s all there.”

“Ok, good.”

After a few minutes, he brought down her entire bedding and a few light clothes.

Liz attempted to rise, but the room spun out of control and went dark. She gulped hard from the effort of trying to stand much less trying to walk somewhere unassisted. 

Raymond took her hands and helped her up from the sofa. The moment she stood, she went weak again, tottering slightly. 

She swallowed back tears at the strain. “I feel so stupid. So frail. I’m sorry.”

His arms instantly went around her back, supporting her. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

He slowly lowered her into a sitting position on the loveseat. She gritted her teeth against another wave of nausea.

“You’re just sick. I’ll hurry so you can lay back down, ok?”

She nodded but felt embarrassed. 

He quickly prepared the couch, then had her all tucked up on the freshly made up sofa a few moments later. 

“I’d like to apply the calamine lotion now,” he declared and put on a pair of latex gloves from his doctor's bag. 

He opened the bottle after shaking it and saturated a cotton ball with the pink liquid, his eyes studying her face as he decided where to begin. 

The cool lotion felt heavenly as he patiently dabbed each spot or wiping it across the affected area, then moved on to the next. He started at her feet, thoroughly working his way up her torso.

Gently, he held her chin in his hand, moving the cotton ball over the contours of her face, along her cheekbones and her forehead. The blue of her eyes was painfully deep, and the kindness and welcoming warmth of her smile made his mouth dry.

He wondered how a girl who looked as if squirrels had nested in her hair could be so appealing to him, blotchy red dots and all.

He hesitated when he’d finished all the spots that were in plain sight. He knew some of the worst regions were right under her shirt.

Noticing his reluctance, her hand reached for her shirt and pulled up the material, exposing herself to him. A tiny bit of trepidation kicked in, but the pleasure and the relief of the cool calamine overcame her need for modesty. She just wanted him to soothe the infernal itching as she was too weak to do it herself. 

She was beautifully formed with small, pert breasts and soft smooth skin and he couldn't help noticing how her nipples hardened right up when his somewhat unsteady hands lovingly administered the lotion to her chest and breasts. 

Despite his best efforts his body was reacting to her proximity in a way that he couldn’t control. The poor little thing trusted him, and he felt like a real cad when he failed to tap down the tumescent in his sweatpants.

She was his patient, and he would treat her as such, yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to rein in his emotions. 

“Did I miss any?” He asked, in what he considered his best, unconcerned voice. 

“I don’t think so,” she breathed. “It feels so good, thank you.”

“Okay, then let me apply the lotion to your backside.”

Gently, he rolled her onto her side and started to dab at the spots on the rear side of her legs until his fingers reached the fabric of her panties. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice so unfamiliar deep and hoarse, as if something else used his throat.

She nodded, and he laid bare her cute butt, taking care of the rash covering both her cheeks. 

Finally, he finished up her back, then drew her light clothes back in place, rolled her back around and draped the blanket over her.

“Thank you,” she said again, as he looked down at her, their eyes locking for many seconds. 

The shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted the moment, and nearly made them both jump out of their skin.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

“Excuse me,” he murmured and went to answer it.

“Maddie.” Liz heard him say.

“I’m stuck with a patient. I couldn’t make it out in time.”

She watched him wander into her kitchen where he started to pace at the obvious tirade that rained down on him over the phone.

“This is my job, Maddie, you know that.”

He became angry and threw his hands in the air in frustration.

“Yes, I pictured our weekend a lot different too,” he hissed back in a sourly tone.

“Tzz, don’t be so ridiculous, as if the storm is all my fault.” 

He shook his head and kept pacing her kitchen. 

“I don’t know when I’ll be home; the entire city has been shut down.”

Before he could say anything else the caller apparently had hung up. Unbelieving, Raymond looked at his phone for long seconds, then closed his eyes, struggling to keep his seething rage at bay.

So, the good doctor had a wife who seemed to be quite unhappy about the turn of today’s events, Liz mused, and she wondered if she should feel guilty about calling for help in the first place.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

When Raymond returned to her side, he sat on the loveseat. Liz could see he remained upset about the phone call, and he attempted to pull himself together. 

There was an awkward pause after he’d dropped his phone facedown onto the coffee table.

“What was that about?” she asked in a small voice, unsure if she should address the issue at all. “Are you ok?”

He eyed her for a moment, silent and pensive.

“I’m sorry for this…” he pointed to his phone. “Just my partner’s usual objections regarding my work.”

“Partner?”

What an odd term to describe the person you’re with, Liz thought. The way he said it felt cold and detached.

“Well, my girlfriend …” 

He gesticulated helplessly with his hand. 

“Significant other? We’re together for more than 10 years now, but not married,” he explained at her confused expression. 

Before he could say anything more his phone rang again. Instantly they both knew who it was.

Raymond frowned, grabbed the phone and abruptly stood, taking the call.

Liz heard a strident female voice over the phone but could not distinguish the words. 

He tried to remain calm until a nerve twitched under his left eye at her words and the muscle in his jaw worked furiously, betraying his bravado. 

“You were the one who hung up on me," he reminded her, then sighed in defeat.

“I know the situation is unfortunate, but there is nothing I can do about it. I’m stuck here for an undefined amount of time. I’m sorry.”

His apology didn't seem to appease her. Liz watched how the voice fussed at him for a few more minutes, but his casual manner made her angrier and her behavior deteriorated even more than it already had.

“For God’s sake, Madeline,” he finally hissed in a low voice. “You’re completely unreasonable and over-reacting. I'll talk to you when you've calmed down and aren't so irrational anymore. Until then, goodbye.”

He hung up and muted the phone to stop the harassment, swallowing back the knot of frustration. 

The situation was awful and extremely embarrassing, but a sideward glance at Liz offered him a compassionate smile. 

“I’m sorry.” He softly repeated his earlier words. 

“Don’t be. She was making quite a scene. If anyone feels sorry it’s me. I shouldn’t have called for help, not in this weather anyway.”

“You’re sick. You need help. Madeline is completely out of line.”

Before she could say anything more, he turned away, thereby ending the conversation on that topic and walked off into the kitchen.

“Would you like some soup? I brought some chicken noodle soup from the store.”

“That's kind of you, but no, thanks. I'm not hungry.”

“Well, at least drink some more, will you?”

~~~~~~~

Liz felt biting heat swirling around her, growing. Faster and faster the flames grew, multiplying, each new flame burning brighter and hotter.  
The roaring fire greedily consumed everything, trying to claim her too – a prize that had been denied years ago. Like a shadow demon, the smoke tried to choke her as she desperately searched for a way out. 

The flames burned higher and wider still until she was surrounded by the inferno.

“No… please…” she cried out.

The flames lunged at her, withdrew, then lunged again. Heat seared her hand. She looked down and watched in horror as her skin dissolved into a mass of bloated blisters, then melted. 

The unmistakable stench of burning flesh filled her nostrils as she fought back the urge to vomit.

Gasping for breath, she jolted upright, her eyes snapped open. She trembled, reeling from the flames that haunted her. 

“Shh, it’s over...”

She blinked. 

Above her Dr. Reddington’s face came into focus, his gentle hands guiding her to lay back down.

A cool rag touched her forehead and the fire retreated, then disappeared. 

“You had a nightmare, and judging by your screams of terror, it was a bad one.”

Raymond dunked the cloth into a bowl of water, wrung it out and again, tenderly dabbed her face. 

“It’s the fever that gives you nightmares.”

He held a cup up to her lips. “I need you to drink.”

Herb tea slid down her throat and she began to feel the soothing effects immediately. 

“I was in a fire. I lost everything.”

Raymond instantly knew she wasn’t talking about her nightmare.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Raymond asked, tender concern etching his voice. 

She shook her head weakly, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on her wrist in distress. “It's the last thing I want to talk about.”

“Okay.” 

He hated the haunted look in her eyes, the obvious years of sadness leaving its mark. He desperately wished she would open up to him, tell him what happened, but he knew she was in no condition to do so. She needed to rest, trouble free if possible. 

He was quiet for a minute, made her drink more tea before he spoke again:

“Just know you’re safe, safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Liz drifted in and out of sleep, probably through the worst night of her life, her fever flaring up again and again, hovering in the vicinity of 104.

He watched her closely, tried to lower the fever with the cool washcloth, bathing her arms, legs and feet. He refrained from giving her stronger medicine, not wanting to suppress her body’s own mechanism to fight the viral infection.

He made sure to keep her hydrated, with water and more herb tea. He even persuaded her to sip a few spoons of the soup she refused earlier, but otherwise she stayed anorexic.

They were both exhausted in the morning after a sleepless night. He had to help her to her feet and guide her into the small guest bathroom at her request to freshen up.

She pulled down her panties and he seated her on the toilet so that she could do her business. Then he walked out, leaving the door open enough to give her privacy.

“Call me when you’re done, I’ll help you get back.”

"Thank you," she murmured softly.

She winced from a sudden burning sensation. Spreading her legs apart, her fingers carefully examined what she already suspected: the spots had spread to her most private area. 

She resisted the urge to cry. If kids survived chicken pox, so could she.

She took several sheets of toilet tissue to clean herself, then rose, pulled her panties back up and dragged herself to the sink.

Washing her hands in the white basin, she raised her eyes to the mirror above and almost fainted when she viewed her reflection.

She looked even worse than she felt. Red spots covered her face and neck, a particularly big and nasty one had infested her upper lip and itched like the devil. A pair of dark-ringed eyes gazed back at her and the ghostly pale skin of her face reminded her of death itself. 

Her hair was a mess and she just knew she smelled like hell too, but she didn’t have the strength to freshen up. 

The hair brush felt heavy in her hands and her arms hurt from the strain, even raising the tooth brush took too much of an effort. She had to face it. She was too sick and too weak to care for herself. 

Leaning back heavily against the vanity top, she held her aching head in her hands and started to cry as if her heart had just shattered into broken pieces. This was all just too much. 

Raymond had just finished changing the linen on her sofa when he heard her hushed sobbing. 

He ran over to the bathroom door and listened. He didn’t want to disturb her, but on the other hand he needed to reassure himself that she was ok. 

He knocked gently. She didn’t answer, just kept crying as if someone or something had physically harmed her.

“Miss Keen? Are you okay? Can I come in?”

His kind voice received no answer and when he opened the door, he was disturbed by how she was visibly shaking.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Tenderly and with extreme care, he put his arm around her small shoulder, trying to comfort her.

“I’m a monster!” she choked in an attempt to speak. 

More tears ran down her distorted face.

“I look and feel like a monster. There isn’t a single part of my body left that isn’t covered by these germs. They’re even …”

She couldn't continue. The tears she had tried to hold back in order to speak gushed forth at the memory of her discovery. 

He pulled her into his arms while her cries turned into heart-breaking sobs, prompting him to cradle her against his chest. 

“What’s wrong with me?”

He patted her back and made soothing noises. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re very sick, sweetheart, not a monster. The spots and the itching will go away in time, I promise.”

Sweetheart? Where did that come from? He hoped in her distress she hadn’t noticed.

When she finally stopped weeping, he leaned back slightly and smoothed her hair away from her tear-streaked face. 

“Feel a little better now?”

He knew he had crossed all sorts of lines with her again, didn’t maintain his professional distance as he should. 

She nodded but felt embarrassed by her outburst. 

“I’m sorry about that. I usually don’t fall apart like this.” 

“It’s absolutely fine. I can only imagine how miserable you must feel.”

He handed her a tissue from a nearby box which she thankfully took.

“My nose is all red,” she muttered and glanced at the mirror again, then blew into the tissue. “I look like Rudolph.”

He chuckled and grinned, tugging on his ear.

“Yes, that seems a bit more accurate.”

Liz smiled back at him. Suddenly she was immensely glad he was with her. She wasn't sure how she would have handled the situation if she’d been alone.

“Come on, let’s get you back onto the couch.”

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm.

“I need you to…“ 

She stopped, searching for words.

“I need you to have a look…” 

She closed her eyes in despair, breathing a shuddering sigh.

“ … between my legs.”

Tears pooled in her beautiful blue eyes again when she opened them. 

“Okay,” he nodded. “But not here, let’s go back.”

Back on the sofa, she bared herself to him while he put on another pair of medical gloves and knelt at her side. 

Hesitantly, she opened her legs while shame and humiliation ripped through her already fragile being and made her look away. 

His hand slowly approached her, two fingers carefully spreading open her labia so he could see.

He gasped at the horrendous amounts of chicken pox inside her vagina and all around on the outside. 

“Is it infected?”

“No, it’s not, but …”

When he didn’t continue, she couldn’t help but to start crying all over again and the sight of the tears running down her cheeks made his stomach drop. 

How much more could she endure? 

He covered her with the blanket and took off the gloves.

Helplessly he took her hand and held it, his thumb soothingly drawing circles on her skin. The gesture felt inadequate for the depth of her suffering and he wished there was something, anything he could do to free her of her discomfort.

And then he had an idea. 

“How do you feel about an oatmeal bath?”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to my beta heatherpeters. ♥ This story comes out slow and in small pieces, not because I don't know it's course, but because I'm lacking the time to write and frankly the motivation. (I really need our show to come back!!!) If it wasn't for her constant nagging... err... encouragement I may not continue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you heatherpeters for the beta! ♥

“You want me to bathe in sticky breakfast food?”

Liz looked distinctly skeptical, causing Dr. Reddington to laugh.

“One of the oldest treatments for chicken pox is an oatmeal bath. It’s an effective remedy to soothe itchy, irritated skin.”

“Well, the prospect of a bath sounds wonderful in any case.”

“Good. I’ll need a minute for preparation, then I’ll help you upstairs to the bathroom.”

With a smile he left her, headed to the guest bathroom and took a nylon stocking that was hanging in her shower. He then quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

When he returned, Liz had managed to drag herself to the stairs in the corridor and now held on to the banister for support.

“I’d better carry you the rest of the way.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, I can manage the steps just fine.”

“Maybe, but I can’t just stand back and watch you struggle while you try.”

Before she knew it, he put his arm around her, and suddenly she was swept up into his strong arms.

“Put me down. I’m too heavy.”

“No, you’re not. Now stop fidgeting.”

She put her arms around his neck instinctively and rested her head against his shoulder.

Raymond’s warm breath disturbed some tendrils of hair at her temples. Just then, a delicate shudder took her slender form.

Time seemed to slow down as she felt his muscles flex and move as he carried her slowly, carefully, up the stairs and through the bathroom door as if she was a precious flower.

With little effort, he gently placed her on the edge of the tub and ran her a bath.

He had filled the nylon stocking with the oatmeal he’d purchased in the supermarket the day before and knotted the open end. He hung the little bag under the hot-water tap, allowing the liquid to flow over it, unlocking the essence of the oatmeal, giving the water a milky appearance.

Still much too weak to do anything for herself, Liz allowed him to assist her while she undressed, then helped get her into the bath. She couldn’t suppress a moan of pleasure when the warm liquid enveloped her aching bones. She sunk deeper into the tub, laid her head back and closed her eyes in contentment. This was exactly what she needed.

“I have to admit I had my doubts, but this feels wonderful.”

“Good. It will help you feel better, I promise.”

When the tub was completely full of warm water, he knelt down beside her and took the bag, gently running the stocking over her body, attentively dabbing at the irritated skin, giving it a silky feel. 

He had seen her naked so many times by now, he’d memorized nearly every inch of her body. Each time his heart raced like crazy, but painfully aware of how much trouble he could get into, he desperately pushed back the desire. What this all meant was too difficult to contemplate right now. Thankfully she was still too sick and therefore fortunately oblivious to his reaction and inner tumult.

He let Liz soak in the tub a while longer while he assembled her used bed linen, her worn clothes and his wet work clothes, then started the washing machine.

Once the water had cooled, he helped her out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her and attentive of her spots, padded her dry.

“My hair feels so dirty,” she murmured unhappily as she reached up and grabbed a strand, letting it fall limply against her shoulder.

“I wish I could have washed it.”

“I can wash your hair in the sink if you like,” he suggested.

“I don’t know. You’ve done so much already. I can hardly ask you to do this, too.”

“It's no problem. Anything you need, Miss Keen.”

He stared at her intently as he waited for her answer.

“Please doctor, call me Elizabeth or Lizzy, if you prefer. That is what my friends usually call me. I mean, you’ve seen me naked and all, don’t you think we should drop formality?”

“Okay, but only if you call me Raymond.”

He watched fascinated as her blue eyes lit up in joy from his words.

“Alright, Raymond. I’d love if you could wash my hair.”

He fetched a chair for her and placed it against the sink. Liz sat down and Raymond put a robe around her. Then, she craned her neck over the sink, closing her eyes as he turned on the water, adjusting the temperature.

He began to spray her hair with water, then squeezed the vanilla-scented shampoo into his palm and, oh so tenderly, he slowly soaped her hair from her scalp to the ends.

He had magic fingers, and she uttered a deep sigh and gave in to the bliss of relaxation that stole over her at his ministrations.

By the time he rinsed the suds away, she finally felt clean and a little better about herself all around, while he wrapped a towel around her wet hair and helped her into a sitting position away from the sink.

She watched as he plugged her blow-dryer into a nearby socket, then took a brush and unwound the towel from her head. Standing behind her, he began to brush out the tangles in her hair in a tender manner.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked softly, lifting the hairbrush away.

“No, you aren’t hurting me,” she answered, then closed her eyes once again as he turned on the dryer and pointed the warm stream of air at her head.

With the brush working through the strands of wet hair and the dryer warming her shoulders, she once again felt a delicious languor sweep over her, especially when he abandoned the brush and instead used his hands to rake through her strands, his fingers spearing her silky tresses.

The feel of her hair gliding along his hands was pure bliss, and this time he couldn't staunch the arousal unfurling deep within him.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, absorbing the scent of her vanilla shampoo, a sweet smell he’d always associate with her from now on.

Time and time again she felt his fingertips on her neck, around her ear, touching her cheek.

He continued to stroke her hair long after it was dry. The tenderness of his touch was a caress, so subtle and natural, she wondered if her fevered mind was playing tricks on her.

~~~~~~

With her bath finished, and Liz all tucked in on the freshly made up couch in a clean pair of pajamas, they shared a lunch of an appetizing omelet, buttered toast and tea.

“This is really good”, Liz said, chewing, her appetite returning. “I'm lucky you're so multitalented.”

He chuckled at her compliment.

“It’s true! I appreciate this more than you know, more than I can say”, she assured him.

“I’ll add all my services to the bill”, he said with teasing amusement.

He caught her small frown as she glanced away.

“I’m glad to do this for you, Lizzy,” he hurried to say, to ease away the hurt. He didn’t mean to devalue her gratitude by his inappropriate comment.

They shared a smile, then fell into a companionable silence as they continued eating.

After she took her medicine, she felt exhausted, the need to sleep strong in her, but the spots, of course, resumed their merciless itching.

She slipped the pink socks over her hands again and tried her best to keep from scratching. 

Tears gathered in her eyes in frustration, then streaked down her cheeks when he came back from cleaning up the kitchen to join her on the sofa.

“The itch is so bad again, it’s driving me crazy,” she sobbed in anguish. “All I want to do is sleep.”

Her tears cut through him like tiny knives, feeling her pain as though it were his own as he studied her face. She looked so much more vulnerable and fed up than he'd ever seen her.

“Maybe I shouldn’t offer you this...,” he paused, feeling conflicted.

“What?” she sniffled.

“I can give you a light sedative that will relax you and make you feel sleepy and comfortable.”

She didn't even have to think twice.

“Please do.”

“Are you really sure? I’m drugging you.”

“Yes, but it’s for medical purpose.”

She looked at him, her eyes were pleading.

“Please help me sleep, Raymond. Just for a few hours.”

He opened his medical bag and prepared an injection. He still looked uncertain when he stuck the needle into her arm, slowly administering the sedative.

“This is okay,” she mumbled to reassure him and reached for his hand. He took hers and held it gently, his thumb caressing the back of her hand until she closed her eyes and slept soundly.

Relieved that she was finally resting, he grew aware of his own exhaustion.

Outside, the snowstorm, showed no signs of dissipating any time soon. It seemed a lot worse than the weather forecast had predicted. He’d be with her a good while longer and somehow that prospect made him happy.

However, he needed to find out what he felt for this woman who appealed to him so much. He was conscious that his feelings and kindling desire were wrong, and he had struggled against them with all his strength, but there was no denying, he knew it was running deep already.

He couldn’t explain why, it had happened so fast under these exceptional circumstances.

He knew he should feel guilty and ashamed, he was engaged in a serious relationship after all, but somehow, he didn’t.

Remembering that he probably should keep in touch with Madeline nonetheless, he took his phone. It showed five missed calls and several text messages. One worse than the next. She still didn’t see reason and had continued to rant and rave at him.

Sighing, Raymond looked at the sleeping woman, then back at his cell phone, staring at the insults and hurtful words on screen.

He was too tired to defend himself. She’d always complained about his work for as long as he could remember, despite living a comfortable and secure life with all the benefits from the money he earned.

Torn between the need to make things right between them and simply ignoring her, he was startled when suddenly the power went off and the room went pitch-black around him. 

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to heatherpeters for the beta! ❤

Elizabeth woke up feeling slightly better but all in all still weak and feverish. She decided she just might survive. 

She slowly sat up and looked around. She couldn't tell how long she slept, what day or time it was anymore. 

The room was unusually cold and dark. The only light came from three lit candles on the coffee table. All other lights were out even in the entertainment center, and she started to worry about a power outage due to the snowstorm.

Raymond lay curled up on the love seat with his knees drawn up to his chest. He sure didn't look like he was comfortable; he had ‘borrowed’ the very end of her blanket to cover his feet. He must be cold, she thought.

He was roused from slumber when she coughed. He was up and by her side in an instant.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Sorry I woke you up, you must be tired too.”

“I don't mind.”

His green eyes locked on hers. From what she could see they were strangely calming.

“How long did I sleep?”

“All afternoon and evening.”

“I’m sorry, I’m a terrible host,” she said unhappily, yet he smiled in understanding.

“You needed the rest.”

“How’s the sore throat? And the itching?” He touched her forehead lightly. "You're still burning up with fever, aren't you?”

He handed her the next round of pills with a glass of water and she had to smile in return at his unwavering care.

“I’m fine. I guess the medicine is working.”

A shiver ran through her body after she swallowed the medication. “It’s a bit chilly here though.”

He took the blanket and draped it around her shoulders. 

“The power has been down for several hours now,” he said, confirming her earlier assumption. “We have no lights, no heat. Cell phone service is not available either.” 

“Uh, that doesn't sound good.”

“We should be fine. We have enough food to last a few more days. Heat will be a problem though, we’ll have to keep warm somehow.”

“There are more blankets and another pillow in the armoire in my bedroom.”

He nodded in agreement, and stepped from the living room.

“Bring the comforter too,” she called after him.

He returned a few minutes later, his arms gathering the bed linens, dropping them in a heap at the end of the sofa. He then spread them in layers over her body, lovingly tucking the bundle around her and under her cute chin. 

He left one blanket and pillow for himself and placed them on the love seat.

“Oh no, I won’t let you sleep on that tiny love seat for the rest of the night, Raymond. This couch can be pulled out into a full-size bed. We can both sleep here.”

When he hesitated, an ugly fear started to coil low in her stomach. He probably didn't want to be in close proximity to her; he was certainly grossed out by her condition after all and was just too polite to admit it. 

“Unless you don’t want to?”

Her voice was laced with insecurity.

“Oh, I want to,” he said quickly, seizing the suggestion.

His pause must have given her the wrong impression when in fact he couldn’t believe his luck and relished in the thought that he could be close to her once more.

She crawled out from under the blankets and let him arrange the couch, then they laid down together, wrapped up and covered in blankets like mummies in a cave. 

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Raymond dozed off, no longer able to resist the temptation of his own body's need for rest. 

Liz had to smile that he finally relaxed and followed him into dreamland. 

#####

They woke up, surrounded by pitch-black darkness. The candles had long burned down and the temperature in the room had dropped considerably. The relentless howling wind and the battering snow continued. 

“I can’t seem to find more candles.” He told her.

She shook her head. “That’s because they’re all gone.”

She dragged in a deep breath, knowing he looked confused even though she couldn’t see it.

“I don’t like a fire,” she slowly explained. “It scares me…But there’s a flashlight in the cupboard in the corridor if you need some light.” She quickly avoided the subject after her confession. 

He grabbed his cell phone instead, and the blue light from the screen illuminated the room enough to let him look at her. 

“Tell me what happened, Lizzie,” he gently urged her, without letting her off the hook.

She swallowed at the way he said her name. There was a softness there, an intimacy that made her want to open up to him. Maybe it was the way he looked into her eyes with such intense interest, or maybe, because he was a doctor, she figured he’d also been privy to some nasty stuff throughout his career. 

“I haven’t told anyone this before.” She began softly.

“I was once married. We lived in Nebraska. I have a degree in psychology and worked as a counsellor and trainer in various settings for different companies. My husband Tom was a fourth-grade school teacher,” she paused and sighed.

“At least that’s what he pretended to be. What I didn’t know was that Tom had a secret life. He made himself available for criminal organizations, then carried out dangerous, often illegal missions like the drug trade, arms deals, robbery, even hit jobs. 

“As successful as he was, he also had a great talent to get himself in trouble. He was greedy and he chose to exploit every opportunity to make profit for himself. When he was caught embezzling money from his last employer, a group of men broke into our house one night and they took Tom and tied him to a chair. They tortured him mercilessly, hit and stabbed him… there was so much blood everywhere.”

Liz started to cry as the memories flashed before her.

“When they were done with him, they poured gasoline all over the place and set the house ablaze. The entire time I hid in a wardrobe unnoticed, but had a hard time escaping the fire. It was a miracle I survived, coming out relatively unharmed except the burn on my wrist.”

She rubbed the scar with her thumb in distress, causing Raymond to place his hand over hers in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture.

“What a horrible experience; I’m so sorry you had to go through that."

“The fire burned the house completely down to the grounds and destroyed everything in it. My whole life as I had known it had been lost and literally burned to ashes.

“But what bothers me to this day, is not that I lost the man I loved or the life we had, but that I had been so blind to his deception for so many years.”

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Me, the expert in reading and analyzing people was married to a ruthless criminal and I failed to notice.”

“Love makes you blind.”

“No, love doesn’t make anyone blind.” She laughed bitterly.

“Falsely created images make us blind. I desperately wanted Tom and me to have a family together, wanted him to make me happy, squeezed all my wishes and dreams into the frame of this image without really seeing the real person behind it. Once this fake image was created, I was sold, I was unable to see the truth and I always ignored my inner longing for something else until it was too late.”

She fought back another wave of tears.

“He fooled me all these years and I’m not even sorry he had to pay the price.”

Raymond nodded. “That’s understandable.”

“Anyway, I moved away and started a new life.”

“Are you in witness protection?”

She looked up at him, regarding the man she came to trust and felt save with within the past two days, but the answer died in her mouth. She just couldn't say it and she didn’t want to lie. 

He sensed her discomfort and anxiety, saw her struggle for an answer. 

“I’m sorry, I know you can’t say anything if you are. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes in an understanding manner. 

Raymond turned off the phone's screen to give her some privacy after her revelation and they lay in silence for a long time. 

“I'm so cold, Raymond.” 

He could feel her trembling beside him. 

“Come here.”

“No, you don’t want me close to you, I'm hideous.” 

“There is nothing about you I find repellent.”

“I’ve marinated the entire couch with my funk by now.” 

He gave out a low chuckle. “I don’t care.”

He scooted closer, found a way underneath the blankets to pull her against him and spooned her backside with his front, his arm draped around her middle. 

“Better?”

“Yes, but I don’t think _she_ would approve.”

His hearty laugh tickled at her neck.

“Oh, she wouldn’t approve to any of this.”

“What’s her problem? Why is she being so hard on you?”

“I wish I knew. It’s complicated for quite some time now.”

“Do want to talk about it?”

She turned around to face him, even though they were still surrounded by the blackness of the room. 

“I guess it’s only fair that I tell you more about me as well.”

“Yes, please do.”

“When I met Madeline, she was exceedingly self-confident. She pursued me actively and maybe a little shamelessly too. I felt flattered and we came together quickly. 

“While in the beginning years she was proud to be with me and literally decorated herself with me at any given opportunity, she turned more and more selfish and self-centered in the latter. 

“To this day she always makes sure she has the best of everything. She insists on having her own way all the time and she stops at nothing, always ruthlessly, even manipulatively pursues it.

“More recently, her specialty is pointing fingers and criticize or shame me for my likes and choices. My work included.”

“I’m surprised you read her so well.”

“I have from the start.”

“But you can’t be happy about the way she treats you.”

“I’m not.”

“So, given the extent of this conflict, what keeps you two together?”

He took a little too long to answer.

“Routine. Habit.”

“That’s no foundation for a relationship at all.”

“Well, I do love her and after all the years we’re together … I think that should mean something.”

“Still, I sense you’re feeling trapped.”

“That’s true. Trapped and helpless because whatever I do won’t change the situation.”

“You must allow yourself to look closely if it’s worth living on like this because this is clearly emotional abuse.”

“I’m aware of that.”

They fell silent again, but after a while Liz muttered softly:

“Sorry, that was the psychologist in me talking. I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s not my business.”

“It’s okay. I think we’ve grown to know each other pretty well these past days and can trust the other with a secret or two. Don’t you agree?"

“Yes, I think sharing with people we trust can be very beneficial. Thank you.”

They had attempted to comfort and soothe the other; It was working for both of them. 

“Maybe we should try to sleep some more," he suggested. 

She nodded and closed her eyes as she rested her head against his chest. 

Raymond was thrilled to hold her, to have her pressed next to him. He smothered his emotions and desires, being content that she trusted him enough to go to sleep in his arms.

Their mutual warmth kept the cold at bay through the rest of the night as they cuddled up in each other's arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

TBC


End file.
